


Alienation

by dana_katherine_scully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, Always MSR, F/M, Fanon, MSR, should be canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-07 18:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7725328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dana_katherine_scully/pseuds/dana_katherine_scully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully is distancing herself from Mulder, and Mulder is trying to figure out what's going on. Set during Season 7 / 8, but in an AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CC owes Mulder and Scully. He should give me ownership for season 11. I could do so much better than him. imho.

Things between Scully and me have been bad lately. Bad. Such a plain word, it does not seem intricate enough to do our situation justice. Wretched seems a better suit. Miserable, maybe. Dismal. Abysmal. Painful. Painful... Most of all painful.

It started out subtly, and increased so slowly, that I couldn't put a finger on when exactly it all began. But Scully has been distant in the past few weeks. Distant in a way I have never experienced with her before. I am sure from the outside everything still appears fine, that Earth still revolves around the Sun like it always has. But for me, the whole universe has shifted. And it feels like I am falling, desperately reaching for the ground with my toes, kicking up empty air.

I have tried to mend the situation. Have tried to be especially thoughtful, giving her space when needed, trying to put a smile on her face whenever the opportunity arises. But the more I reach for her, the further she retreats. And all I can do is watch her withdraw. She seems a million miles away, and is slowly but surely slipping through my fingers.

Being an insomniac only makes things worse. Every morning I wake up unrested, having slept for the smaller and tossed and turned for the larger part of the night. In my dreams I find a million reasons for Scully's behavior. She's not interested in our work anymore. She's fed up with me as her partner. She's fed up with me as her friend. She has fallen in love with someone else.  
The night after that dream I wake up so sick to my stomach I feel like throwing up. 

I have to reassure myself that noting has changed. Have to know that all is still well with us. That all is still well with the universe. I am called to her. I have to feel her. Have to feel her soul by touching her. But when I reach for her she pulls away, and it hurts. It hurts badly. It hurts so badly my heart drops, and I wonder if she can hear it hit the floor. I pick up the pieces, makeshift mend them with a band-aid, and will them to hold together, just long enough to get me out of the door, out of our office, out of Scully's sight.

When I return Scully is gone. I am grateful, for I am unable to bear the discrepancy between her physical closeness and her distant manner any further. It is Friday, and I know that by Monday I will have recomposed myself. Will have told myself over and over that Scully's feelings for me are unchanged, will have told myself that she loves me often enough to start believing it. 

But now its Friday night, and I don't know how I will get through this wretched weekend. The clock ticks away at an agonizingly slow pace. Twelve hours, 17 minutes, 51 seconds. That's how long it will take until I will stop feeling like I am drowning, when breathing will come naturally again, when my thoughts will start revolving around things other than her. But now it has only been an hour, and my throat is still constricted as if Scully were squeezing it shut. I open a window, try to fill my lungs with oxygen, and the rain outside provides a welcome cooling. 

Gathering the courage to end this misery I pick up the phone. I know I have to call her, that we have to talk this out. But talking has never been one of our strong suits. We have gotten by fine with glances, touches even. But we have never learned to talk to each other. We have never learned to pour our souls into words. I am convinced Scully knows how I feel about her. And I am pretty sure she loves me in some way too. Or at least used to love me too. 

I hear her voice on the line, and the distance between us seems so much larger than just the physical distance. It almost feels as if we are not only separated by miles, but also by hours. She is saying her name hesitantly, almost in a whisper, and I wonder if she has been expecting my call.

"Scully"

And all of a sudden all my courage is gone. All my fears multiply to infinity. What if Scully wants to leave me? Having a distant Scully in my vicinity is still better than having no Scully at all. I already lost her enough times, I can't bear the thought of losing her one more time. And her leaving out of freewill would make things even worse. So much worse, because I would have to face the truth, the truth of not having been able to make Scully fall in love with me, to keep her from falling out of love with me. And THAT would be the biggest failure in my life. Not having lost my sister, not having lost my father, not having lost my mother. Having lost Scully, who means so much to me it scares me. The coward that I am I hang up the phone.

I start counting to ten, concentrating on breathing, willing my heart to keep on beating. But before I reach ten my phone rings and I know it is her. I can feel it is her. How stupid could I have been believing she would not instantly recognize my breathing on the line. All the sleepless nights, the late phone calls, I know the rhythm of all that is Scully by heart. We match so well, I am sure our heartbeats and breaths match too, that we are synchronized to perfect unison. Surely she must have realized it was me on the phone.

I consider ignoring her call, but Scully is calling me like a siren, and before I can stop myself I hear myself utter my name.

"Mulder"

"Mulder, it's me"


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey Scully". A thousand thoughts race through my mind, one excuse chasing another. None of them believable enough for her to fall for. She is pausing, trying to let me explain on my own, but my mind fails.

"Did you just try to call me?"

"Uh, yeah, I just wanted to... talk to you about something work related. But it can wait until Monday." I rush through the last part of the sentence, praying she will let me off the hook.

"Well, I am listening now." No luck.

"It's uh... We have to go out of town for a case next week, and I just wanted to make sure you were available."

"I see... yes, I am available." 

Am I imagining things or does she sound disappointed? Does she not want to go chasing aliens with me anymore? Does she no longer want me in her company? I have always looked forward to our out of town cases, when I get more than 8 hours of Scully in my work day. When I might even get a glimpse of after-work-Scully. Why else have we been running after any case I could lay my hands on, no matter how ridiculous the case? The further away and the longer the better. And I always though she enjoyed our assignments too. She didn't seem to mind the long drives, the shared dinners, the late night conversations. My heart sinks, and I need to get off the phone now.

"We'll be leaving on Tuesday, I'll tell you all about the case when I see you in the office on Monday, ok?"

"Sure."

"Well, I gotta run. See you on Monday."

"Mulder?"

"Yes?"

She pauses. 

"Nothing. Have a nice weekend."

"You too."

The weekend passes viscously, one minute chasing the other. I try to preoccupy myself, but my mind keeps returning to Scully. I know I have to deal with our situation. I am an un-functioning wreck. I hardly eat, hardly sleep. Monday approaches creepingly, but arrives faster than I want it to.

Scully is professional as always. I present our case, she asks a few questions, and we're back at sitting at our desks. Scully leaves the office more often than usual lately. My mind starts wondering if she might be seeing someone at the office, but I bury the thought so deeply it does not stand a chance of re-surfacing. Or so I hope.

When lunchtime comes around she informs me that she has to take care of some things before we leave and that she won't return to the office for the day. We haven't eaten lunch together in 17 days. I am embarrassed I know this by mind, but my mind likes to store numbers, even hurtful ones. I mumble some form of approval, as if I had anything to say in this matter, and watch her sally out the office. 

On Tuesday she arrives just in time for our flight. She looks tired. Like she hasn't slept either. As soon as we take our seats, Scully fastens her seatbelt and closes her eyes. I know how uneasy flying makes her. It makes me smile slightly. Scully, the scientist, the encyclopedia, the treasurer of facts, is afraid of something as improbable as dying on a plane. Doesn't she know how much more dangerous driving is? Today she seems to take it especially badly. At one point she practically runs to the bathroom, and when she returns her face is flushed. I don't mention it, knowing that she does not like to talk about her fear of flying. She knows all the facts, fear of flying is something irrational, and nothing I can say or do can make this better. I sometimes hold her hand, but I don't dare to today.

It is a two hour drive to the motel I have booked for us, and we spend it in silence. When we arrive she tells me that she is going to fore go dinner, and has vanished in her room before I can reply. I go running, as much to exhaust myself as to keep myself from knocking on our connecting door. When I return her lights are off, and I stand outside our rooms for a while, hoping to catch a glimpse of her through her window. The night is cool, and I start to shiver after a while, so I go inside and crash on my bed. That night I have confusing nightmares about Scully. She is being abducted by aliens. No, she ran away, making it look like an abduction. She has found Samantha and they are laughing at my futile attempts of finding them. Now she is sitting in Skinner's office and they look at me like I have caught them red handed as I storm through the door. They laugh at my attempts of telling them I have found out about her and Samantha, all of a sudden the room is filled with agents, and they are all laughing at me.

I wake up drenched, the alarm clock telling me it's only 5 am. I know I won't be able to get back to sleep, and sure as hell don't want to anyway, so I get up and once more look over the material I have gathered on our case. 

Scully doesn't show up for breakfast, and I hesitantly knock on her door at 7:30. It takes her a few minutes, but when she opens the door she is ready to go, and immediately starts walking towards our car. That day I don't see a lot of her. Scully has to conduct an autopsy, which keeps her occupied for the better part of the day. I interview possible witnesses, and question two suspects, but my mind is so preoccupied I have a hard time processing what they are telling me. A little after 3 I admit to myself that I am not getting anywhere and drive over to the morgue. When I arrive Scully is just about to discard her gloves and lab-coat. I offer to help clean up, and she gladly accepts. I feel like my heart is being moved back to its rightful place. For the first time in weeks she seems to want my company, and I can barely contain my relief. 

We head over to process the crime scene once more, but finding no further evidence we return to our motel. I hesitantly ask Scully if she wants to join me for dinner, holding my breath until she replies with a "yes".

It takes her longer than usual to get ready, and I start worrying she might cancel after all. But then she is knocking on my door, and when I let her in, she looks so small, so fragile, all I want is to press her against me. To wrap my arms around her and tell her over and over again that she will be fine. But Scully is hesitant, still standing in the doorway, as if she were unsure if she should really enter. So I grab my jacket, make some lame joke about her leading the way, and follow her to the car. Dinner is uneventful, but I enjoy her company, even though her thoughts seem to be miles away. I have to repeat myself several time, and our conversation is sluggish, to say the least. I drive us back to the hotel, and Scully barely manages a 'good night' before she once again disappears in her room. 

I pace my room, want to go talk to Scully so badly, but don't know how to approach this subject. In my mind I play out a million versions of conversations we might have, but none of them end well. A thunderclap sharply pulls me back to reality, and when I look towards my window I see Scully standing in my door. She is drenched from head to toe, water running down her face, washing her mascara along. Or are those tears? Has Scully been crying? I am completely taken aback, and it takes me a minute to process her appearance. Her drenched sneakers, the wet pants clinging to her legs, her arms that she has protectively wrapped around herself, her hands pulled inside her sleeves, the wet hair sticking to her face, and her eyes, her beautiful eyes, full of sorrow and regret. I close my eyes, steadying myself for what is about to come. But when she opens her mouth, my whole world comes tumbling down.

"I am pregnant, Mulder"


	3. Chapter 3

I utterly fail to reply, having to sit down on my bed instead. I cannot get myself to look at her. This is not what I had expected. So not. I want to say something, to tell her that it is okay, that everything will be fine, but a million images run through my mind. Scully comfortable on her couch, her pregnancy visibly well under way; Scully in her pyjamas, rubbing her belly; Scully in a hospital gown, looking worried but stoic; Scully in pain, her hair sticking to her face; Scully smiling so happily it almost makes me jealous. Scully rocking a baby to sleep. Scully encouraging a baby to crawl. Scully reading a book to a toddler. I am in none of these images, and I wonder where I fit in. Am I an observer? A bystander? Or am I present? I want to ask her where I fit in, but it seems too selfish of a question to ask. There are a million other questions I need to be asking. 

But Scully has anticipated all of them.

"I know this is not what we had planned. For heaven's sake, this is not something we COULD have planned, even if we had wanted to. This pregnancy is nothing short of a medical miracle, the fact that we have only slept together once not even factored in. We never talked about that night. When I left well before sunrises I was afraid you would bring it up, that you would want to talk about it, but I think we both figured it would be best to pretended nothing had happened. Best for us as friends, best for us as partners. It was a mistake, a moment of passion, something that should never have happened."

She can't really be thinking that, can she?

"But it has happened, and I am baring the consequences. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing I would have wished for more than to be carrying this baby, it's just that I am currently still a little overwhelmed."

SHE'S overwhelmed?

"But don't worry, Mulder, you will not have to be involved. We can pretend that this is the result of one final IVF attempt, one that worked out, no matter how improbable it was."

It seems Scully has finished her speech, but I cannot get myself to say anything. Scully has taken my breath away, along with my heart. This is all too much for me to process, and I bury my head in my hands. Scully softly puts a hand on my shoulder, and whispers "I just wanted to let you know in person. Before you found out from someone else. You're the first I've told" before she's gone.

I feel sick to my stomach, and run to the bathroom. But I don't have to throw up after all, and instead slouch down next to the toilet, leaning with my back against the bathtub. I let my head fall back and rest it on the tub's rim, the cold ceramic against my head a welcome cooling. After the rush of images that have flooded my mind, my mind is now drawing a blank. I wonder if something in my brain has short fused, but then the images slowly re-appear. I see Scully knocking on my door, sitting next to me on my couch, sipping languidly a beer, falling asleep against my shoulder. Me covering her with a blanket and going to bed. And then I see her standing in my doorway, and my first thought is that something has happened. I sleep-drunkenly say 'Scully', but then I recognize the look on her face, and before I can realize what's happening she is straddling me and kissing me hungrily. I see my own hands on Scully, for heaven's sake on SCULLY, tearing at her clothes. She doesn't utter a word, but swiftly helps me undress too. After that I only see flashes of Scully. Her tilted head. Her arched back. Her nails digging into my chest. Her oh so perfectly shaped breasts. Her thighs that have a tight grip on me. Her delicate feet pushing down my blanket. Her eyes are closed, but she seems to savour every moment. Her tongue runs along her lips, and I can't help following it with my thumb. She takes my thumb in her mouth, and I gasp with surprise. She opens her eyes, and I can feel her come, which makes me completely lose it. 

I know our decision to have sex had not been wrong, heck if it had been solely up to me we would have had sex pretty much right after she said 'Agent Mulder. I'm Dana Scully, I've been assigned to work with you'. But the way we dealt with it had been wrong. So wrong. I should have told her I loved her, should have insisted on talking things through. But once again, talking is not our strong suit, and I simply assumed we would one day get there. It seems we did get 'there', it's just that 'there' is not where I'd expected it to be. 

I have to set things straight. Let Scully know how I feel. And pray she feels the same way too.

I hesitantly knock on our connecting door, but Scully doesn't answer. I worry for a moment that she might have fallen asleep, but then I hear her sniffing 'come in'. Her room is completely dark, but I can make out her form on her bead. Her legs are drawn up against her body, and she is hugging them tightly. I sit down next to her, but this time it is her not wanting to look at me. I lift her chin to make her face me, and all I can see is worry in her eyes. She seems to want to object, but it is my turn now.

"Scully, I let you talk before, now please hear me out. What we did WAS wrong, but not for the reasons you think. Not that we did it, but the way we did it was wrong. How could we think that we could pretend that this had never happened? Even if this miracle hadn't resulted from that one night, this is something that branded me so deeply that it can never be unwritten. And I don't want it to be unwritten. Scully, I have loved you for so long, it almost feels like there was no 'before you', like the Mulder I am today was born the day we met. And in some way I was. You changed me. I know you didn't mean to, but you did. I tried to refuse to accept what you meant to me. But from the beginning I had to admit that I felt more for you than was appropriate. And when they took you from me, Scully, I thought I wouldn't survive. I was ready to give up, to give into the dark side, anything, to just have you returned. And from the day you WERE returned to me, I cherished you every single moment. I first thought you didn't reciprocate my feelings, but the more time we spent together, the more I began to believe that you loved me too. So when you crawled into my bed that night, it only seemed natural to me. It seemed like a logical consequence, as if us being in bed together had been predestined. And when you were gone by the time I awoke I was devastated. But I understood your reasons. You were scared, and so was I. The closer we get, the more it hurts if something goes wrong. And nowadays it seems as if the whole Universe is out there to get us. It seems like nothing is going our way, except for this one miracle. You are having a baby, Scully. WE are having a baby, and I would give up everything to be able to have this baby with you. So even though I am afraid that somehow this miracle will one day be used against us, there is no way I could not want to be involved. If you will have me, that is" I whisper the last sentence, afraid that Scully will turn me down.

There are still tears running down Scully's cheeks, but her face is calm now. She looks so brave but small at the same time I just want to wrap her body with mine, but I need to give her space now.

"Mulder, when I first learned of my pregnancy I couldn't believe it. My first thought was of you, and I couldn't wait to run to our office to tell you. I was so overjoyed, I played out the conversation we were about to have a million times in my mind. But when I did get to the office, your face was so stern. You were looking at some files, I don't remember what case they were on, but your look was so serious. And you were upset. You told me that you had to stop the people behind this, and you muttered something like that you wished you could rid the world from all its evil. And I was afraid. I was afraid that you would chose the x-files over me. I know it was silly, but I was so afraid of me baring my soul, and you rejecting me, that I decided not to take the chances at all. It was hard, Mulder. So often I almost blurted it out. Especially in the times you were happy. But minds can be tricky, and the longer, the more I was convinced that you would not want to be a part of this. When I had met you, you were so self-dependent, whereas it felt like I had become completely dependent on YOU. And that scared me. I thought you could live just as well with out me, whereas I could not. But I know that I was wrong. And I am sorry to have put you, to have put us, through this."

Scully leans in and kisses me. It is not as chaste as the new year's kiss, but it is neither full of hunger. It is a kiss full of love and hope, and it carries the whole truth. The truth about us, and about what is to become.


End file.
